


Tomorrow's Promise

by softestpunk



Series: (Witcher) Christmas Kisses [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, it's sweet though Geralt's a good boyfriend, kinda fluff anyway, put it this way: the rating is not for explicitness but for Emhyr being a mopey git
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 07:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16827565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpunk/pseuds/softestpunk
Summary: On his last day as Emperor of Nilfgaard, Emhyr has much to look forward to.





	Tomorrow's Promise

**Author's Note:**

> This serves as a final part to the series that begins with Champion as well as being an advent calendar fic, though I imagine it reads just fine alone (you'll have to read the rest of the series if you wanna know how Emhyr and Geralt got to this level of emotional intimacy though).

Unlike most important events in Nilfgaard, abdication had, mercifully, been a quiet affair. Emhyr had signed the appropriate papers with the minimum number of witnesses, and when he stood he had met his daughter’s eyes, and they had exchanged a nod that said more than Emhyr could ever have brought himself to.

Snow began to fall mere minutes later. Some men would have seen this as an ill omen, a warning from the gods that the path he had taken was not the correct one.

As Emhyr looked out at the thin blanket of white covering his city, his interpretation was somewhat different. He saw a new beginning. All the sins of his rule washed away.

A blank slate for Ciri to mould her nation and her people into something more than he ever could have.

This was what he wanted. This has been his plan, and all his tomorrows now promised so much. The chance to retire, to rest, to enjoy his grandchildren after a life lived hard and cruel.

Perhaps he would even be ready to touch them with his blood-soaked hands by the time they came into the world. Ciri would make an announcement any day now.

Geralt had told him so, able to sense the change in her with such certainty that Emhyr simply accepted it as fact. He trusted the witcher’s judgement.

“Thought I might find you here,” the man in question spoke from behind Emhyr, and by now he’d grown accustomed to Geralt being one of very few people who could sneak up on him quite so easily. Geralt had assured him perhaps a hundred times that it was not, in fact, intentional.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, Geralt’s warmth at his back. Tension Emhyr had been almost wholly unaware of eased out of his muscles, held tight since he’d stood and left his office--now Ciri’s--for the last time.

“Nilfgaard’s growing on me,” Geralt continued, his thumb tracing small circles through the heavy fabric of Emhyr’s clothes, still strong enough to feel through all the layers. “It’s beautiful when you look at it the right way.”

Geralt had a way of getting under his armour. Always had.

It was just as well Emhyr had won him over, in the end. Any other state of affairs would have been intolerable.

“She will make it even more so,” Emhyr said, certain this was true, but with a waver in his voice all the same.

“You kept it safe,” Geralt murmured. “You were everything it needed you to be.”

Frost formed in front of Emhyr’s face as he breathed out, the air crisp and sharp.

“Yes,” he said after a moment. “Yes, I was.”

Hard, and cruel, and cold. But the empire had prospered under an iron fist. It was, as Geralt said, a thing of beauty when looked at from the right perspective.

Geralt moved to stand in front of him, blocking the city from Emhyr’s gaze, filling his world with warm amber eyes. Softness spread over Geralt’s face, kindness Emhyr had never quite felt he deserved, but had relished all the same.

“And now you don’t have to be,” Geralt murmured, his hand still firmly on Emhyr’s shoulder.

The air between them had warmed. Geralt always ran hot, a blessing in the winter and a curse in the summer.

“Tomorrow, you can be whoever you want,” Geralt continued before closing the gap between them, sealing their mouths together.

Warmth flooded Emhyr’s belly, all his senses opening up to Geralt at once. He adored this. This simple act of closeness, of affection. He adored the way Geralt kissed, hard and demanding, lips and teeth and tongue prying at Emhyr’s mouth, subtly laying claim to him as his own.

And he adored the fact that, for once, he was allowed to give in to it. To admit that his heart and his reason were now ruled, at least in part, by another man.

That he could now be warmer, and kinder, and softer. For Geralt, for Ciri, but most especially for himself.

Emhyr’s lips parted, and he sucked eagerly on Geralt’s tongue, allowing his witcher to chase away the last traces of regret, of loss. He still had those things which were most important to him.

He still had _this_ , though he had been irrationally concerned that he might not. Even though Geralt had barely gone a day for weeks without mentioning how glad he’d be to be out of the city.

They would leave in spring, Emhyr had decided. Long enough for Ciri to settle into power, long enough to be sure that all the business of the busy season was in order. Not that Emhyr doubted Ciri’s capabilities for a moment.

Just that he needed one last season to let go.

The kiss broke to both of them panting, Emhyr’s heart thundering in his chest, the heat of his blood making the tips of his fingers tingle. His desire for Geralt had never waned after the first spark. Not for a moment.

“You think I’ll change that much?” Emhyr asked, curious.

He himself had no idea what retirement would do to him. It was a mystery he faced with equal parts excitement and trepidation.

Geralt shook his head. “I don’t think you’ll change at _all_ ,” he said. “Not in here.”

Emhyr looked down as Geralt tapped the centre of his chest.

“But you might soften up a little around the edges. Stop grinding your teeth so loudly. Laugh a little more often.”

“That would please you, wouldn’t it?” Emhyr asked, a smile threatening to turn up the corner of his lips.

Geralt shrugged. “I like it when you laugh. Makes me feel a little less like I’ve hitched my wagon to a marble pillar.”

Emhyr hummed, reaching out to lay his hand flat on Geralt’s chest, allowing himself to be soothed by the beat of his heart--even if, Emhyr was fairly certain, he was only imagining being able to feel it.

He would feel it later, in bed, when Geralt had chased away the last of his demons. In the perfect moments of stillness after, when, he had realised, he was the man he wished to be.

Perhaps Geralt was right. Perhaps he would change in all those ways.

They would both find out tomorrow.


End file.
